To Marry or Not To Marry
by Emma Watson Rules
Summary: Ron’s proposal just swept Hermione off her feet. Yet as the wedding draws nearer, Hermione can’t help but to rethink if she should have accepted his proposal.


"Oh," Hermione sighed impatiently as she entered the Three Broomsticks. "_Not again_!" Ron was late, as usual, but she had expected him to be on time since it _was_ their first date since he had proposed.

She hurriedly strode over to an empty booth in the crowded inn and quickly seated herself to hold the table. Tapping her fingers impatiently on the worn wood, she wondered for the hundred-and-third time how she ever said yes to his proposal.

_It was Christmas, a day that would be spent at the Burrow with various members of the Weasley clan and the Potters. Ginny and Harry had gotten married the year before, and Ginny was now heavily pregnant._

The night before had brought a sheet of new snow, so Hermione was thankful to be inside the house, surrounded by the warmth from the fire, and, even more, the welcoming atmosphere. Hermione headed into the kitchen, occupied predictably, by the female Weasleys. Molly Weasley was in the kitchen with Ginny and Fleur preparing lunch, though Fleur was mostly ordering others around.

"The pudding is not going to set by lunch if you two don't put a Cooling Charm on it soon," Fleur said loftily from her place at the kitchen table.

Mrs. Weasley's already pink face turned red, but she swished her wand over the bowl of pudding. Light blue sparks drizzled down and settled down around the bowl.

Mrs. Weasley turned back to her previous work-- tending to the chicken. Hermione could sense the normally patient woman's temper rising and quickly ushered the cause of it out of the kitchen.

In the living room, the Weasley sons were playing a round of Exploding Snap, while in a corner, Arthur Weasley was shooting rapid-fire questions at Harry about Muggle computers.

"Lunch is ready!" boomed Mrs. Weasley from the kitchen. All the Weasleys scurried into the room to avoid her wrath.

Lunch was a pleasant affair, everyone around the table eating heartily. Conversation flowed from one end of the table to the other.

Sitting next to Ron, Hermione noticed Ron's edginess during the meal, his appetite substantially less than usual, his fingers moving about his lap restlessly. Nevertheless, his fidgeting stopped when Ginny shot him a glare from her seat opposite him.

Soon it was time for the exchanging of presents. Mrs. Weasley had made them each a customary jumper, perfect for the current harsh weather. Hermione's was a warm red colour with a quill on the front. Ginny and Harry had given her a new stack of Arithmancy books, for a bit of "light reading," she had said; Harry just rolled his eyes. Hermione gave Ron his gift, a set of dress robes. She couldn't help but feel a pinch of sadness when he neither offered a gift in return, nor showed much appreciation for his own, especially since Ginny had assured her that he "would love it".

Finally, when all the presents had been handed out, Ron dragged her to the side of the living room.

"Hermione…" Ron started nervously, his eyes looking anywhere but at her. Hermione swallowed, equally uneasy. His left hand was in his pocket, fidgeting with something in it.

"Yes?"

She was slightly curious, and currently feeling downcast at his recent coldness, to what he was going to ask since during the whole meal and exchange of presents he had been so tense.

"Willyoumarryme?"

It may have been incomprehensible to others, but Hermione was used to his mutterings.

"Yes, Ron. I will." Hermione's voice trembled; her heart was beating rapidly and felt as if it would give way any moment now.

A smile burst onto his face. He looked like a three-year-old who had been given a year's supply of sweets at Honeydukes.

"You daft git!" Ginny's voice rang shrilly from the side. "You didn't kneel when you proposed! Propose again! Hermione deserves a proper proposal!"

Ron's ears flushed red. Slowly, painfully aware of everyone's gaze, he dropped to his knee and repeated his question.

"Will you marry me, Hermione?"

"Yes, Ron!"

Mrs. Weasley squealed from the other end of the living room. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to propose today?"

Ron gulped. "Sorry, Mum. I wanted it to be a surprise." He looked so ashamed that everyone laughed.

"Oh…my darling son, you're all grown up and getting married!" Tears welled up in Mrs. Weasley's eyes.

Hermione sighed at the memory, and each time she thought of it, she knew _why_ she had agreed. He was just… Ron. Sweet and awkward Ron, always trying to place her before anything else, whom she loved with every ounce of her being. Goodness. She sounded like a teenager! Hermione silently berated herself, but quickly slipped back into her dream-like mode.

The door of the Three Broomsticks burst open, revealing a panting Ron, his eyes scanning through the lunchtime crowd for her. He quickly made his way over.

"I'm sorry, Hermione." He looked at her, and Hermione's previous anger dissipated.

Her lunch break was almost over at this time, so they just ordered some sandwiches to share. As they left the inn, Ron turned to her.

"I'll make it up to you, Hermione. This Friday I'll pick you up at your place, seven o'clock."

Hermione nodded before they both Apparated back to their own jobs.

--

"It's already _seven_!" Hermione huffed. She stood in her living room, dressed in a deep green dress, pacing around agitatedly.

POP.

"I'msosorryHermione," Ron gasped. "I was going to be early, honest, but then Grism informed us that a Muggle had gotten hold of a cauldron full of a batch of faulty Draught of Living Death, which a wizard must have carelessly left about. We had to go down to Wales to place several memory charms on the guy before he could hurt himself or anyone surrounding him." His eyes shone with sincerity and Hermione found it hard, once again, to stay angry at her fiancé.

"So, do you want to break off our engagement?" Ron teased her, trying to lighten her spirit.

Hermione cracked a small smile.

--

Hermione's lips curved into a wide smile as she lay on her bed before bedtime, thinking of the events of that evening.

Ron had brought her to her favourite Muggle restaurant, playing the perfect gentleman to her the entire night. Hermione was floating on Cloud Nine.

--

"I think you should have a spring wedding," Mrs. Weasley said.

Hermione could not agree more. It had always been her dream to have a wedding in April, with the scent of thyme engulfing her, surrounded by a carpet of yellow daffodils. April was three months away, a slight rush, but, of course, it was Hermione making the arrangements. If she couldn't do it, who could? She was a master at planning events, all systematic and orderly business.

"You should wear a dark magenta dress, 'Ermione," Fleur suggested.

"Purple would suit her better," Mrs. Weasley contended.

"Non, non!" Fleur exclaimed. "It would not match her eyes, _at all_." Her eyes grew wider for emphasis.

Mrs. Weasley grew pink in the face. Though her son Bill and Fleur had been married for five years, sometimes she secretly still felt like strangling her daughter-in-law. Especially at times like this.

"Why don't we go to Madam Malkin's before we decide which dress to get?" Ginny interjected before the argument got too heated up.

The four women simultaneously stood up from the table, all tired from their discussion, wanting to do something a little more hands-on.

--

The wedding was in one month, or exactly thirty days, and everything was in a mess. The caterer had not confirmed its order and the dress had not been altered because Hermione had been too busy with work and planning to go down to the shop. Even the wedding invitations had not been chosen, but that was the fault of Mrs. Weasley and Fleur, who were in charge of that job. Another war had nearly been sparked off because of that.

Hermione's workload also was piling up. She hated being so behind in her work, and found herself burning the midnight oil, trying to juggle both things at once. Yet, during this time, Ron had been supportive, taking over many aspects of their wedding. He was the one who had settled the venue, the decorations and even the guest list. Furthermore, he knew of her mounting stress and had taken the initiative to bring her lunch to her workplace every day. He said it was because he knew she wouldn't eat otherwise, and he didn't want to be marrying a bag of bones, in a joking manner of course. (He later added that he didn't mind marrying her in any form, but he was just worried about her health.)

Ginny watched her soon-to-be sister-in-law becoming increasingly stressed and observed the circles beneath her eyes getting darker and darker. Finally, Ginny couldn't take it anymore. She dragged Hermione from her office and led her outside.

"Hermione! You have to _stop_! You're working yourself too hard," Ginny reprimanded.

"But there's just so much work to do. I have to rewrite a letter to the Minister for Magic, because it was all _wrong_. I can't afford to take leave for such trivial matters, Ginny."

"Do you want to look like an Inferius on your wedding day?" With those parting words, Ginny Apparated off with a loud pop.

--

"Where is he?" Hermione moaned, her fingers fidgeting anxiously.

"Calm down, Hermione, he'll be here on time," Ginny consoled her frantic friend.

"But I've been waiting for thirteen minutes." Hermione wanted to run her hands through her hair, but just managed to restrain herself from doing so since that would only mess it up.

"Hermione, you're _early_," Ginny stated. "Thirty minutes early. He'll be here on time."

The half an hour passed in tense silence, the only sounds coming from Hermione's pacing about.

Ron arrived not a second later. He was finally on time. He was dressed even more splendidly than that night when he'd brought her out. Hermione had never felt luckier.

As they walked down the aisle, everyone could see the beaming bride's face and the silly grin on the groom. They looked as if they had been together for several centuries, and finally, they were getting married.

Their walk down the aisle was without hitches. No slips or tripping; it was as graceful as a ballet performance. In front of the priest, Hermione looked up into the eyes of her soon-to-be husband.

This is _definitely_ the man I want to marry.


End file.
